Omniscience
by Lupa Eira
Summary: There was a time, a moment one might say, when Rose Tyler knew everything. When she saw the universe and time in its entirety, and though the Doctor took its source, the remnants of Bad Wolf remained. When Sherlock encounters Rose Tyler by chance, he will be astonished by just how much she knows. In honor of TheWheelWeaves's birthday! Spoilers for Season 3, but nothing major.
1. Chapter 1

**There was a time, a moment one might say, when Rose Tyler knew everything. When she saw the universe and time in its entirety, and though the Doctor took its source, the remnants of Bad Wolf remained. When Sherlock encounters Rose Tyler by chance, he will be astonished by just how much she knows. In honor of TheWheelWeaves's birthday! Spoilers for Season 3, but nothing major.**

**Roselock only if you want to be, like all my other works. A warning, however-there's quite a bit of flirting in this particular fic. Whether or not Season 3 or Journey's End happened is also up to you (although I did steal a line from the episode The Sign of Three and the concept of Redbeard), and this is under the assumption that Sherlock exists in Pete's World. Takes place Post-Reichenbach and post-return, though how long after the return is less certain.**

**One last note-read this with a bit of a critical eye, if you'd be so kind. It's not by best and I'd love advice on how to improve it.**

* * *

"May I speak to the person in charge of this investigation, please?" Sherlock asked impatiently. Working outside of Lestrade's jurisdiction was quite annoying, really, and in more ways than one. For starters, John wouldn't allow him to be his usual impolite self and immediately storm the crime scene. His doctor had warned him against any impolite behavior before heading off to find the nearest facilities and buy some food, as it had been a long cab ride out to this crime scene.

"Certainly," a short brunette squeaked, obviously intimidated by Sherlock's towering figure. She motioned for him to follow, presumably to lead him to the person in charge. Sherlock huffed and complied with his back straight and his hands clasped behind his back. They made their way through halls filled with incompetent, bumbling officers before they finally reached their destination.

"-no, no, that's not good enough. We can't have anyone in here who doesn't know what they're doing; I want them out of here now."

"But Ms. Tyler-"

"Now."

Two angry, shame-faced men stormed past Sherlock and John in the doorway. Local policemen, best in their division, pissed off by the fact that they were told off by someone higher in rank than them...a woman, no less. Sherlock deduced all of this in half a second, then turned to face the woman in charge.

"Ms. Tyler, I'm Sherlock Holmes," he said, striding over to her.

"Mr. Holmes," she greeted without looking up from a paper she was studying. "Did I request you on this scene?" Sherlock's eyes widened marginally at the statement. Blunt. She was working and cross and didn't want to be interrupted. _She can be manipulated._

"I'm sorry?" he asked, keeping a tone of polite confusion. Gaining some sort of sympathy might work. Women tended to be more empathetic than men in general, and tended to fall for the sympathy card more often. It was definitely worth a shot, but Sherlock grew frustrated when she looked up and he saw plainly that she wasn't having it. The hard lines of her wide mouth were evidence enough without deducing further.

"I asked if I requested you, Sherlock Holmes," she said bluntly. "Considering I am in charge of this investigation and civilians are not allowed on crime scenes without my express permission."

"I'm not a civilian," Sherlock countered, more than a little put off by her attitude.

"You're not official law enforcement either."

"Neither are you." It was Ms. Tyler's turn to blink in question. Encouraged and clawing his way back to the high ground, Sherlock started in on a barrage of deductions.

"You're military, special services perhaps. You only get called in on the worst cases-"

"I'm well aware of who I am, and I have full confidence in what you do," she interrupted coldly. "What I also know that you don't seem to is that you were not called here in an official capacity. Unlike me. I was requested by one Mycroft Holmes." She cocked an eyebrow at him, daring him to question her. Sherlock, meanwhile, spluttered.

"Mycroft? Mycroft asked you?"

"Before he asked you, yes. Shocking for you, I imagine, but then this case really isn't your area."

"Cases are my area, Miss Tyler."

"Not this one."

"And why would that be?"

"Classified."

"That being said, I know what I'm doing when it comes to crime scenes, unlike those men whom you threw out unceremoniously-good call, by the way, as they were imbeciles."

"Flattery will get you nowhere."

"Worth a try."

"You're not getting on to the crime scene," Rose said, dropping the slight playful smile that had somehow made its way onto her face, replacing it with a serious, steely glare. Sherlock arranged his own face in a similar manner. Before he could say anything, however, Rose started speaking again. "Without my permission, that is. Let's call it an experiment, Mr. Holmes." It was only then that he noticed that she had moved from her spot behind a desk and was standing directly in front of him. Tantalizingly close, in fact, if he was inclined to be affected by such things-wait, how had he missed her moving so close to him in the first place? Internally shaking this off, he stared into her soulful doe eyes and hardened his own. He could play along with this.

"Oh?" he asked slowly, almost in a lazy hiss. Her lips twitched slightly, but otherwise she gave no indication of attraction or other weaknesses to use to his advantage, unfortunately.

"Yes," she said, her mouth still parted slightly. "Instead of you telling someone else about themselves, I'm going to tell you about yourself."

"On what grounds?" Sherlock asked, somewhat irritated at such a presumption. She clearly was nothing special intellectually. Combat training, extensive traveling, works in some kind of top secret...something. While he internally made deductions, she had stepped away from him slightly, eyeing him up and down in a clinical fashion, and was now moving in a slight semicircle. He had not taken his eyes off of hers, and felt an odd thrill down his spine when his gaze was again met. There had been a change, a subtle one, in her eyes. A golden light, almost.

"Well, I'd like you to get to have an idea of who you're dealing with, instead of just assuming. You have no respect for others. Sherlock Holmes," she tasted his name, rolling her tongue around it like it were a mystery, like saying it would give her information. Sherlock found himself fascinated somehow, though a part of his mind remained extremely skeptical of...whatever it was she was doing. Her scrutiny was unnerving. "You have never been interested in space," she began in a conversational tone. "A pity, really. No doubt there are planets out there that would fascinate you endlessly. But this is about you, not me." She leaned up against the desk. Sherlock was entirely unsure of what she was doing as her eyes flicked back in forth in what was a classic indication of remembering something long forgotten, perhaps a list. She took a deep breath with closed eyes and then exhaled through her nose as her eyes moved behind their lids in a search for information. When she opened them again, they were alight with secret knowledge.

Sherlock honestly had no idea what to expect when she finally opened her mouth.

"An Irish setter," she said abruptly. They both blinked in confusion. "Sorry, it's all a bit blurry," she apologized, reaching up a hand to her temple. Her head shook in an effort to clear it. "Pirates, chemistry...you learned early that the formula for love is simple. Seratonin, oxytocin, dopamine. In an effort to quell the loneliness, you liberally self-medicated those three chemicals along with cocaine. People claimed you were insane anyway, so you didn't care that an excess of any of the three could cause schizophrenia, depression, and any number of other diseases...but I could have learned all that from Mycroft. Let's go into something that only you would know." She straightened up. Her eyes flicked back and forth again, not seeing the room in front of her. Sherlock noticed that she tended to squint in concentration. "Let's go back to the Irish setter," she decided, whirling around to stare Sherlock in the eye. "Redbeard, was it? Cute. He was so much easier to get along with than people, wasn't he? Just as complicated, but easier to be with. You considered running away with him several times. You wanted to work with dogs at one point but then decided against it after Redbeard was put down."

Sherlock saw red.

"Why did Mycroft tell you all of this?" Sherlock snarled, cornering her against the desk. She didn't look frightened, oddly, but Sherlock was far too enraged to care. "What is his purpose in tormenting me?"

"Mycroft didn't tell me anything," she insisted. Sherlock looked into her eyes and found that there were no indications of her lying. The implications were staggering. Rose Tyler sighed and looked away from his gaze, choosing instead to allow her eyes to wander over Sherlock's torso and hands clinically, almost sadly.

"It's a lonely life, isn't it?" she murmured. "Being the only one who seems to see everything for how it is, isolated from the only person who understands you, no matter how hard you try to reach them...do you know where you are from, Sherlock Homes? The atoms in your body originated in the heart of a faraway star. This star was so very special, because it had a partner, and they danced a unique and beautiful dance for thousands and millions and billions of years, until a passing black hole disrupted their gravitation. The star's partner was flung away, and soon after, both stars died. Some say it was from loneliness. And all the atoms that make up John Watson came from the star that was flung away. Isn't it remarkable?" She closed her eyes. "And what do we say about coincidences?" she asked softly.

"The universe is rarely so lazy," Sherlock answered in shocked quiet, reeling internally as he screamed at himself think, think, think. None of this made sense. How could any of this be happening?

"Neither this one nor the next." Rose looked up as Sherlock gripped her forearms with his long, graceful fingers, his eyes desperately searching hers for some kind of answers.

"Who...are you?" he asked uncertainly. His voice was uncharacteristically quiet. She smiled without showing her teeth.

"My name is Rose Tyler," she said. "And I've seen just as much as you ever will, Sherlock Holmes."

She extricated herself from his grasp gently and walked toward the door. Once she stood in the doorway, she looked back.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'll meet you at the crime scene when you're ready." She exited, leaving Sherlock to his thoughts. She nodded at John Watson as she left, who looked puzzled at her expression. This puzzlement changed to outright concern as he saw Sherlock's state.

"Who was she?" he asked.

"Rose Tyler." John noted how he framed the words with his mouth, like it was the name of a puzzle he was trying to solve, or a game he was trying to win.

"What happened?"

"She gave me permission to go on to the crime scene." John laughed.

"You? Permission?"

"Yes, John. She was in charge of the investigation."

"I'd have loved to have seen her put you in your place," John said with a smile. He gestured to the door. "Well, are you coming?"

"Of course," Sherlock said, striding out the door and locking his hands behind his back. "She didn't even say hello. Proper introductions are important, John."

* * *

**Okay, I'm going to end it here. Finally. It's a bit of an awkward ending, I know. If I get sufficient response, I might do a second chapter, but it'll definitely end after that. I really just wanted to get this posted. What do you all think? Does it need more work?**


	2. Chapter 2

**Due to pretty much everyone who reviewed requesting it, there is now a second installment to this story! However, this is probably the last part of it. I really don't do very well with long-range stories. Even if I plan them out completely to the end, I usually end up losing interest and abandoning them, because I've already figured them out. I'm kind of heartless that way.**

**Also, I would like to thank Ria Dalrado for pointing out that Rose is normally much less serious than I made her out to be in the last chapter. It really made me look at what I wrote with a critical eye and helped me develop a plot for this installment. You'll notice her attitude actually doesn't change all that much, in fact she's more serious here than the last chapter, but there's a reason for that and it's (hopefully) made clear here. Thanks, Ria Dalrado!**

**Sorry for this taking so long. I've been focusing on other things lately. College auditions are in a year or so and I need to start preparing now, so yeah. Plus, you know, general laziness.**

* * *

John stood a bit off to the side as he normally did, somewhat unsure of how to proceed in such an unusual situation. Sherlock hadn't been the only one called to this case, and now he was forced to work with someone. He knew from past experiences that his friend didn't play well with others. Oddly enough, Sherlock simply strode into the room and began to examine the body as he normally did, instead of attempting to completely dominate the crime scene. Rose moved slightly to the side, gazing at the corpse critically as well with her head tilted and her tongue peeking out between her over-wide lips. After that, they had worked in seemingly professional tandem together, which of course was in itself a miracle for Sherlock, but even more so with Rose. She was...different. She smiled a lot, but not with her teeth, and was seriously dedicated to her job, possessing extraordinary discipline. There was something about her, a kind of light that seemed oddly unfocused.

Now, the case was finished, and John was curiously watching the two of them interact. Sherlock appeared lost in thought and Rose glanced up toward his face, leaning on one of the squad cars.

"Sorry about being so harsh on you earlier," Rose murmured to Sherlock. The detective looked up at her despite himself and noted how she wasn't looking at him. Her gaze was firmly on the body being loaded into the ambulance, on her work, but it didn't mean her mind was.

"You said what you had to," Sherlock said dismissively.

"Doesn't mean I couldn't have done it more politely," Rose insisted with a furrowed brow. "But I had to test you."

"And what purpose did testing me serve?" He was curious, but his curiosity wasn't strong enough to overcome his vague sense of annoyance at her making small talk after the case was finished. Really, being forced to work with other people on cases was so tedious.

"Curiosity. And because I know you're not quite what people seem to think. Geniuses of your caliber rarely are. First impressions can be just as misleading as lies. But I'm used to dealing with geniuses who forget that other people don't move quite as fast as them. They forget that it doesn't mean other people can contribute. Anyway, I just wanted to apologize, even though I know you wouldn't be inclined to." She had not looked him in the eyes once, and her tone had remained low and almost consistently monotone.

A question burned on Sherlock's tongue, and he opened his mouth for the cool air to release the heated words.

"What ever happened to you?"

"Sorry?" Confusion etched lines around Rose's eyes and mouth.

"You know more than you should, and...your eyes."

"My eyes?"

"Yes…" Sherlock wasn't used to being so inarticulate, but he found that he could not, in fact, find the words to describe what he had found in Rose's eyes. He fought for them anyway. "You're kind, but not as kind as you used to be. You're intelligent, but much of your knowledge comes from experience. You're a people person, but you're alone." A mask had slipped into place on Rose as Sherlock was talking.

"Got all of that from your deductions, did you?" Her bitter tone was enough to make Sherlock pause in realization.

"You've lost someone," he said plainly, without any of the usual malice he would normally reserve for manipulating people with these kinds of deductions.

"Tell you what," Rose said abruptly, turning to face the detective. "Fair trade, we'll call it. Since I told you all about yourself, you can do the same to me, but not here. Tomorrow night, Angelo's, seven-o-clock." Without waiting for an answer, she turned and walked away. She reached a hand up to wipe her eyes, then withdrew it and clenched it in a fist at her side. Sherlock let her go.

The next night, Sherlock made his way to Angelo's. Sherlock abruptly and unabashedly sat down in the seat opposite Rose, who looked up upon the sudden intrusion.

"Mr. Holmes," she greeted neutrally, only briefly glancing at his face and chewing studiously on a chip.

"Miss Tyler," he returned. Two could play at this game. "Bad Wolf." It was a title he had heard in association with her, but only in whispers, and that was what Mycroft had told him her code name was.

"Been doing research, consulting detective?" she shot back. "The only one in the world. Too bad."

"Too bad?"

"Well, I knew one other person who could have been called a consulting detective. In fact I could be called a consulting detective. Or perhaps, in your case," she now fully gazed into his eyes, with a smile he could not fully read into, "a consulting therapist."

"You told me nothing that you couldn't have found out from other sources," Sherlock dismissed, although not altogether convincingly.

"Please," Rose scoffed. "Don't lie to me over chips; it's very unbecoming. Anyways, there must be questions you're dying to ask me."

"Such as?"

"Who I am, why you can't get any records on me past three years ago, and what I'm doing here, for a start. Well," she sat up, plucking another chip from the basket in front of her and munching it purposefully, "I'll tell you what I can. My name is Rose Tyler, which you know. You can't get any records on me because I didn't exist here until three years ago. And in a different time, I knew a person very much like you. And I'm here because even if it's just for a brief moment, you need me now."

"Why would I need you?" Sherlock asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Because you're arrogant, Sherlock Holmes," she smiled, indicating it was a bit of a joke, though her eyes were still deadly serious. "Tell you what," she said, leaning across the table. "You deduce me. I'll fill in the gaps afterward."

"You're certain there will be gaps?"

"Positive." She leaned back, ready to have all of her secrets (or so he thought) to be laid bare before his cold, calculating gaze. She cocked an eyebrow in a challenge, munching continually on her chips. Sherlock privately wondered how she managed to gorge herself on them so.

"You're an only child," he began. "You were born into a working class, single parent family, but you seem to have two parental figures now. You were in a long-term relationship that unexpectedly broke off. You're trained in diplomacy and some forms of combat, run a lot and have traveled extensively. You have worked for the government for the past several years, mostly in...investigating foreign anomalies-" He was interrupted here by Miss Tyler applauding him, seemingly with equal parts candor and sarcasm.

"Well done, Mr. Holmes," she said, staring at him with unreadable eyes. "You have managed to summarily describe my entire life without actually saying what happened at all. And that is quite impressive, considering how much has happened to me in the last few years. So," she said, leaning forward, "let me fill in the gaps for you." Her tone brooked no argument, and though Sherlock had never been one to heed a warning, he couldn't run the risk of missing what she was about to say.

"I'm not an only child, but I was raised as one," she continued. "I was born into a working class home, yes, and I worked in retail for a few years after I dropped out of school. I had a boyfriend who I was happy with. And then I met a man. He travelled with me all over the known universe and to some parts that weren't known. To save the world, we were torn apart. It's always something with him, I suppose. He can never live quietly." She laughed unexpectedly. Her smile was wide and her teeth were too, and Sherlock blinked. Had he ever seen her actually smile? "And I suppose I can't either!" she chortled. "Once you get a taste for adventure, I don't think you ever quite go back."

"Why, exactly, are you telling me all this?"

"To help you. And to apologize again for earlier."

"How does this help me?"

"Well, if I'm going to keep an eye on you, you might as well get to know me."

"Why would you keep an eye on me?"

"You remind me of someone."

"The person you lost."

"Yes."

"Are you insinuating that you already know me because of this?" Disappointment filled Sherlock in with a bitter taste; if sentiment was her only reason for pursuing him, he wanted nothing to do with it.

"Oh, Sherlock." Rose leaned back in her chair with what looked like a genuine smile. The light that seemed to emanate from behind her eyes was suddenly brighter, like she was slipping back into the person she was always meant to me. "Sherlock, I have seen the turn of the earth and the the death of the sun and the wastes between the stars and I have scattered the atoms of thousands of malevolent beings to protect a single life. And when I did that, I saw everything in the universe and time and space for a single moment, and I saw you: how you are integral to a thousand million universes, how in mine, you were written hundreds of years before I was born just so I could have a hint of what was to come. You burn like the core of the hottest star and encompass entire other universes, and you have burned at the back of my mind for years before I knew I would meet you. Oh, Sherlock, how I know you."

The man in question sat, utterly transfixed, on the woman before him, his mouth slightly parted and eyes sparkling, trying to wrap his head around her mysterious words. Suddenly in front of him was the entire world; Rose had her very own gravity well, trapping him into orbit, but he couldn't say he minded all that much.

He was broken out of his stunned state by Rose. She was laughing.

For a moment Sherlock felt offended, but he soon realized that there was no malevolence in Rose's laughter, only pure joy. Despite himself, he smiled back.

He could have sworn that the brightness around Rose, the brightness that always seemed to be at the edge of his periphery, grew ten times more luminous. In that moment, Sherlock swore that he would never let her light go out again.

"Are you coming?" she asked. She had gotten up from the table and was holding out her hand.

"Where?" he breathed, willing to follow wherever she led. Her smile was a star birthed from the nebulae of her eyes.

"Wherever you like."

* * *

**Aaaannnddd another terrible abrupt ending. Heh, maybe I'll do a third installment. Who knows? At this point, I think this story's never going to be properly finished. Rose and Sherlock never seem to be properly finished, I suppose. I have a vague idea pertaining to the possibility of a third installment, so...yeah. Might be happening, might not.**

**In case you didn't pick up on it, Rose is more serious here than she normally is because she's still upset about the Doctor, and she kind of needs Sherlock to bring her back to herself again, but she took everything into her own hands when she pulled the Bad Wolf thing out of thin air. It's a weird kind of destiny. **


End file.
